Blueish Coloured Fire
by Noche Buena
Summary: Andy and Suze's mom are off to San Louis Obispo for the week. Artificial cheese, rain, and chaos. New chapter added 6/09/03!
1. When Dopey Bought Things Tasting Like Ch...

I don't think I've ever been this tired in my whole life. Or drained. Or anything. All I know is that I think my jaw is permanently stuck open on account of that I've been yawning for practically the last 3 minutes, and my eyes keep on drifting shut and then someone pokes me in the ribs. Ugh. Ugh.  
  
Welcome to an Ackerman-Simon car trip to the Safeway 9 blocks away from the house. house.  
  
Sleepy drives like a maniac, which he is not- his real name is Jake, but he looks how I feel most of the time. However, he has *excellent* abs, so I sort of forgive him. Even though he's my brother and I shouldn't like him 'cause of his excellent abs, I do, so shoot me... Or not. me. or not.  
  
"I'll get the Cheetos!" Doc chirped eagerly from the seat next to me, grinning. grinning.  
  
"I've got dibs on the Pringles," I claimed, yawning once more.  
  
"Cherry Vanilly CremeCrème Hansen's," grinned Brad, whom I call Dopey on account of- well, he's dopey. 'Nough said. said.  
  
My mom and Andy (my stepfather) were going away on a "romantic weekend" in San Luis Obispo this weekend, and they left the *entire house* to us for two days. We didn't argue- using their lovey dovey love (their only hindsight) as our advantage. Not that my mom and Andy aren't totally cool parents-they parents- they are, really- butare, really-but it's always fun for the parental units to leave for a weekend. weekend.  
  
They totally trust us. us.  
  
Okay, soooo, maybe I'm exaggerating a little. little.  
  
Okay, a lot. They're having at least four of our rich neighbors check in on us everyday to make sure we're not having any "wild teenage parties." That's hardly the case for me, but my so-called "popular" brothers Jake and Brad (Dopey and Sleepy) are quite the babes at my school, according to several of Kelly Prescott's (MPGISY: most popular girl in sophomore year) friends. And poor Doc- he's so smart that he could never be considered popular because he can calculate the IQ of a cheerleader just by slashing the room temperature in half. Well, actually, he can do a more accurate version of Dumb-O-Meter (that's my way)- and his is way nicer.  
  
way)-and his is way nicer.  
  
I digress- my brothers are still going to figure out a way to have a "bitchin' rave" (read: lame party consisting of a few rounds of Parcheesi and Wave Rider). Or, at least they're stocking up for it and I don't have to pay for anything. My best friend Gina in New York (where I'm from) was actually kind of right- there are advantages to having working brothers who think they're cool and have big muscles. muscles.  
  
Well, aforementioned, Sleepy does. Brad's aren't bad, but Sleepy's are better. Don't worry,worry; I'm not this scary perverted incestuous girl. I just happen to notice those sorts of things. things.  
  
So, I haven't complained at all about them planning a party- and I won't tattle, seeing as they didn't tattle on me when I was supposedly on a "gang initiation" when a scary cheerleader ghost was excorsizedexorcized to wherever and the breezeway collapsed at my school. I'll get into more of that later- not scary cheerleaders, I mean, *ghosts*. *ghosts*.  
  
That's not the reason I'm so sleepy, though. I don't quite know what it is, and it wasn't because last night a little girl ghost had popped into my bedroom and wouldn't stop crying. She wanted chocolate milk and her daddy- daddy..  
  
and oh-And oh, I guess now would be a good time to tell you. There's never really a good time, but I might as well start while I'm ahead, right? right?  
  
I'm a Mediator. I talk to dead people. people.  
  
Yes, shut up, it's true, and NO, I don't own a white lace-up jacket, thank you. you.  
  
I like to get this over and done with, you know? Because I'm really sick of leading into my stories with just my normal life, because I don't have a normal life. My normal life is so un-normal... It's, well, not normal. un-normal...it's, well, not normal.  
  
Anyway.  
  
Anyway.  
  
That's the short and sweet version. I could go into about how there's a hot Spanish-American ghost named Jesse haunting my bedroom and how I can't muster up the strength to make him go back (hell, that's the only way I'm *ever* getting a guy in my bedroom, dead or not) alive) and the fact that he has these lovely dark eyes with long long eyelashes and the- if I went on any farther, it would start to be the long version describing the many words he calls me when he gets angry or when we're having a rather civil conversation. Querida is one of words he calls me often, and I'm a little bit scared to look it up in Doc's Spanish-English dictionary because I'm not sure I want to know what it means. Also, his voice has that accent that's absolutely knee-to-floor-rendering, which is why you'll find me holding on to inanimate objects most of the time to keep my balance.  
  
My desk is practically worn through on one edge, severely lightened because of the immense tons of sweat pouring through me almost each and every day. day.  
  
But anyway. About the little girl. She didn't get it that she was dead and it was absolutely awful to tell her. You always feel bad for the little kids- they always make me want to cry- and I'm not the crying type of girl. The adults are sometimes not so sympathetic or sweet and oftentimes they try to club me with large pipes, and then I don't like my job so much. And then sometimes I have to kick them in uncomfortable places, seeing as how I can touch ghosts. ghosts.  
  
They're not really cold, actually- they are to normal people, but not to me. They're actually very nice and warm and some of them have very nicely defined tan six-packs. Well, that's only Jesse seeing as how sometimes his white shirt falls open a little and I can see down it. God, I really need to stop talking about Jesse.  
  
Jesse.  
  
The little girl went back sometime in the early dawn, after I scurried underneath my large canopy bed (I swear to God, I would've never picked it out, but my mom loved it so I haven't tried to hack it to pieces or anything) and grabbed a small stuffed Koala bear that I had when I was four. Then, she stopped crying when I gave it to her and she smiled, and like *that*, she just disappeared. disappeared.  
  
I could've gotten 4 more hours of sleep if only I'd thought of that earlier. earlier.  
  
And then it was like Jesse wanted to spite me, so he popped up out of nowhere 2 minutes later (when I was all comfortable and snuggled into my bed). I'm not exactly sure what he said, but I caught "Querida, nice work," and "you could have given it to her earlier." Ah. Good. So he hadn't heard of how I sort of lost my temper with an older woman another day ago- and if only it had been that simple. simple.  
  
He had heard, and so then he griped on me about that for the next few minutes after that, while I tried to burrow myself farther down into the feather bed. bed.  
  
He gave a loud sigh and I swear, I could hear his head shaking, and when I peered out again, he was gone. gone.  
  
That's so annoying. annoying.  
  
So that's why I'm trudging up and down the soft drink aisle right now, Doc trailing after me with his Cheetos. 'Cos Jesse is as annoying as a- well, he's annoying, and let's leave it at that. that.  
  
"Did another ghost come last night?" he asked excitedly, practically bouncing up and down. Doc gets really excited about these things, because even he can't explain some of the things that happens. Makes him feel like a scientist to explain all this stuff tome- me-because I actually listen to him and it makes him feel important. He's going to make an awesome astrophysicist someday. someday.  
  
"I look that bad?" bad?"  
  
"You don't look bad. You just look a little sleepy," he assured me, glancing down at the Nutrition Facts of an RC Cola. Cola.  
  
I hate it when people do that, by the way. Ruins all my fun and makes my eyes instinctively shoot to the calories and saturated fat table. table.  
  
"Yeah. Little girl. Wanted chocolate milk. Wailed for four hours. Wanted daddy. Gave her bear. Stopped crying. Went away," I formed inconclusive fragments of sentences, unable to perform on a normal level. level.  
  
I checked out the new Sprite can while Doc proceeded to tell me the psychological tendencies of little girls. As though he needed to tell me; he sometimes forgets that his big sister actually knows some of the stuff he talks about once in a while. "Well, I just hope the ghosts will leave me alone this weekend," I told him. "We've got important things to do." do."  
  
He glanced at me from under his glasses, his eyebrows raised. "You mean Brad and Jake have important things to do. And by the way, I'm not tattling on you guys, either. I might be a nerd, but-" but-"  
  
"You're not a nerd," I interrupted him. He smiled at me, shaking his head. head.  
  
Doc wasn't a nerd, really. He was actually, the best step-brother I've ever had. Especially compared to Sleepy and Dopey, who never cleaned up after themselves and never- well, Sleepy was okay, sometimes. But seriously, they didn't EVER leave the toilet seat down. It's really gross and that's why I'm so very happy that Doc let me have the room I'm in, even though Jesse's in it too. The great thing about the room is that it has its own bathroom. bathroom.  
  
And its own hot piece of man, but that is again, not the point. point.  
  
"But I'm not a scandalmonger," he finished, finally grabbing a 6-pack of the new Cokes with lemon in them. them.  
  
Which, by the way, are highly addictive and have made me quit my Diet Coke spree. spree.  
  
Doc and I left the cokesoda aisle to go find Dopey and Sleepy, who were probably ravaging the chips/dip/cookie aisle as though they were Father Dom (I'll get into him later, too) in a room full of cooperating lost souls.  
  
"Suze! Whaddya think about this? 3-D Doritos or Natural Doritos?" Doritos?"  
  
Brad had the two orange bags firmly in his grasp on aisle nine, looking indecisively at the both of them, with a speculative look on his face that reminded me of Father Dominic. Dominic.  
  
Okay, I guess now would also be a good time to discuss Father Dominic, whom I call Father Dom. He's the Principal/Dean/Operator priest at my school, the Mission Academy. He's a mediator too, but he tends not to kick so much as talk patiently with the recently or not so recently deceased. He's a totally nice guy and lots of times gets me out of big hunks of trouble when things are broken and have obviously been mystically shattered. Except he doesn't really approve of my "consorting" with Jesse, but, whatever, he's a priest, he should be like that. Especially with all the weird Catholics out there nowadays. Thank goodness I'm not. not.  
  
A Catholic, I mean. He helps me out a lot, and I've managed to get him hooked on bad habits. The only two bad habits I wish he would quit were A.) smoking, and B.) interrupting Jesse and I at crucial times when I'm almost positively sure he's going to pronounce his undying passionate love to me and make out with me on my roof. Of course, that's not *ever* gonna happen, but it is a really fun fantasy to run through your head when you're in US History, lemme tell you. you.  
  
Actually, my mom is the one who tends to break up the cute little flirty signals I think Jesse may be sending to me. Dammit, gottamust stop thinking about Jesse. Because, you know, he's a ghost and all. all.  
  
"I vote 3-D," mumbled Sleepy, sending me back to the Safeway, obviously hiding something behind his back. I wondered to myself for a moment if those were condoms, and I burst out laughing inside. I always kind of think that way- not pervertedly,way-not perversely, but it wouldn't be what you expected from Sleepy. Sleepy.  
  
"Whatcha got there, Jake? Candy?" I chirped, winking my left eye, arms crossed behind my back.  
  
"No." He turned bright red.  
  
Then he dropped the package behind him. I started laughing, unbelieving that he actually would drop it. Apparently accidents happened, and they wouldn't happen if he didn't have his... his..  
  
"Cherry flavoured Trojan Condoms: XTRA XTRA LARGE FOR XTRA SENSSSSSAAAAATIONS!" EXTRA LARGE FOR EXTRA SENSSSSSAAAAATIONS!"  
  
I started snorting and doubling over, resting my back on a bunch of Sun Chip packages, pressed up against the muted steel shelves.  
  
Doc looked at me, puzzled. Dopey's mouth hung open, and he shook his head, growling, "Un-uhn. I know we agreed on a public party, but bro, you aren't gonna get some while Mom and Dad are away." away."  
  
Doc practically choked on his cough drop, which he takes for his allergies. "Should I cover my ears for this?" he asked me warily, his beautiful blue eyes wide underneath his wire-rimmed glasses. glasses.  
  
"Oh, don't worry, it'll be fun," I told him, now crossing my arms underneath my chest over the DKNY symbol thingiethingy on my blue shirt.  
  
"It's not like he was getting any before," I remarked, wrinkling my nose and giggling. "Or he would be getting any while Mom and Andy were here.... Really, there's just not any getting." getting."  
  
"Nice," commented Dopey, tilting his surfer blonde head at me. "Put those back," he said commandingly, handing over the box he had picked up to inspect more closely.  
  
"You can't make me, this is my money!" gritted Sleepy. Sleepy.  
  
"Well, then, you're not going to get any chance to use them if Doc and Suze are following you around at the party, are you?" you?"  
  
"Hey," I objectioned. "I'd be a very cool chaperone." chaperone."  
  
"If you were dead, yeah," retorted Sleepy. Sleepy.  
  
I had to stop myself from making any comments on that one. one.  
  
Dopey glared at Sleepy, and finally, he picked the box out of Dopey's hands and hid it between the two bags of Sun Chips I was leaning against. "All right, we have enough stuff? More people are bringing some things. I told them pretty much, no alcohol, because of the neighbors, which means everybody coming will be pre-party-drunk. So, everybody will just have to be really hyper." hyper."  
  
I rolled my eyes. Guys are so stupid. They always need alcohol or sex to have a party.  
  
10 minutes and a trunkful later, we were all checked out and leaving the Safeway, Sleepy's hands clenching the steering wheel, glaring over once and a while at Dopey. Dopey.  
  
I smiled to myself. myself.  
  
Yep. This was going to be one "bitchin' rave."  
  
-------------  
  
"You know what, David? I think we better leave the chessboard *in* the closet," I informed him.  
  
He sighed. "You're probably right. Chess isn't so easy to play with so many people coming. But I called Danny and Blake, and they're coming over..." Danny and Blake were two of Doc's friends, both of them who were very intelligent for their age but very clueless on the ways of a high school party. As was Doc, who frequently researched the subject but had never gotten the chance to attend anything but a study party.  
  
"Well, that's good," I said. "Then feel free to give their cute little checkered selves some air, in your own room, probably."  
  
He looked at me, a confused expression on his face. "I think that was a joke, but I don't think I got it."  
  
I patted my younger step-brother on the shoulder, sadly. "That's all right." As all my humor is lost on ghosts, it is also lost with poor Doc.  
  
He left the kitchen, where we had been sipping non-alcoholic (as to not damage our young livers) drinks on the marble counter that had the little seats you could sit on and pretend you were at some rustic country bar. Which, we weren't, being in an old-new Victorian house in Carmel, California.  
  
I took a long sip of my Diet Lemon Coke, my feet dangling carelessly from the chair, before I was rudely interrupted by Dopey, who came in brandishing several CDs in a CD player.  
  
"You're from New York, right?" he asked, a little breathlessly as though he had been running around for hours to collect all of his stupid boy CDs and stick them in their appropriate plastic coverings.  
  
"No, I'm from Swahili," I replied sarcastically.  
  
He looked at me blankly. I swear to God, my step-brothers are all just clueless.  
  
"No, I know you're from New York, but that's not the point. Which one is better, in your opinion?"  
  
"Sound-wise, or impress-your-friends wise, or dance-wise?"  
  
"Um... I guess all of those?"  
  
"Right. Lemme see." I held out one hand expectantly, and he walked around the counter to give the CD case to me. Plopping it down on the counter, I leafed through his selection, which seemed to involve mostly rap and angry metal music. If Beethoven were a ghost, and he were here, he would have exploded our entire house.  
  
"Well, what a culturally refined boy you are," I pinched his cheek. He slapped it away and his cheeks flushed.  
  
"You don't think any of them are good?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing. "Really? I kind of thought girls... went for the bad-boy thing."  
  
I practically choked on my drink, I was laughing so hard. "You're joking, right?"  
  
Dopey didn't seem to appreciate being called a non-magnetic girl magnet. I knew this because he slammed his CD foam case shut, and glared at me.  
  
"So what do you suggest, Madame. I'm-The-Life-Of-The-Party?"  
  
"Geez. Calm down, would you? For one, I would ditch the M.C. Hammer CDs."  
  
"But they're old school!" he complained.  
  
"Yeah, Brad, they're *old.* Not old school," I corrected him.  
  
He had a look on his face as though he thought that I had said that he had been living his life the wrong way his entire life. "I am not ditching M.C. Hammer," he said with as much courage as he could under the situation.  
  
"Let me just go and get Sl-Jake, would you?"  
  
As expected, I didn't get up from my seat to go walk upstairs and knock on his door, like an athletically fit person would, although I definitely needed it.  
  
"JAAAAAAAAAAAAAKKKE!" I yelled, using that New York lung power that came in handy when living in a four-men household. "COME DOWN HERE AND TELL YOUR BROTHER THAT MC HAMMER IS NOT ACCEPTABLE IN A PUBLIC LOCATION, SUCH AS THIS PARTY WE'RE HAVING IN WHAT, TWO HOURS?"  
  
Four hours later, Jake came down to sleepily rub his eyes and mumble, "Brad. Put down the M.C. Hammer."  
  
All right, it had been more like four minutes. But in Jake-time, it's very, very, very slow. It's like watching Baywatch in really slow motion, so they're just stuck up in the air after each running step they take.  
  
"See?" I said triumphantly. "Even Jake thinks it's stupid, and he's..."  
  
Dopey looked at me expectantly.  
  
"Very cool," I finished. *Smooth,* Gidget. ------------------------------  
  
All right, that was my first Mediator fic.... Tell me how I did, please! 


	2. Of Powdered Cheese and Bottled Water

Chapter Two: Of Chessboards and Compact Disks  
  
-------------  
  
"You know what, David? I think we better leave the chessboard *in* the closet," I informed him. My brother Doc and I were in the kitchen, and he was clutching a well-worn set of chess in his skinny arms. He looked at me, perplexed, as though he couldn't understand *why* anybody wouldn't want to play chess, because after all, it was the greatest game in the world.  
  
I hung up the phone I had in my hand. Cee-Cee and Adam and a bunch of other sophomores I knew were going to be coming for the "bitchin' rave" later on tonight. But for now, I had my step-brother with whom I had to reason.  
  
He sighed.  
  
"You're probably right. Chess isn't so easy to play with so many people coming. But I called Danny and Blake, and they're coming over..."   
  
Danny and Blake are two of Doc's friends, both of them very intelligent for their age but very clueless on the ways of a high school party. As was Doc, who frequently researched the subject but had never gotten the chance to attend anything but a study party.  
  
"Well, that's good," I said. "Then feel free to give their cute little checkered selves some air, in your own room, probably."   
  
He looked at me, a confused expression on his face. "I think that was a joke, but I don't think I got it."  
  
I patted my younger step-brother on the shoulder, sadly. "That's all right." As all my humor is lost on ghosts, it is also lost with poor Doc. And probably all my brothers, really.  
  
He left the kitchen, where we had been sipping non-alcoholic (as to not damage our young livers) drinks on the marble counter that had the little seats you could sit on and pretend you were at some rustic country bar. Which we weren't, being in an old-new Victorian house in Carmel, California.   
  
I took a long sip of my Diet Lemon Coke, my feet dangling carelessly from the chair, before I was rudely interrupted by Dopey. He came in the kitchen, his big feet stomping loudly on the wood floor, brandishing several CDs in one of those soft CD cases in his hand.   
  
"You're from New York, right?" he asked, a little breathlessly as though he had been running around for hours to collect all of his stupid boy CDs and stick them in their appropriate plastic coverings.  
  
"No, I'm from Swahili," I replied sarcastically.  
  
He looked at me blankly. I swear to God, my step-brothers are all just clueless.   
  
"No, I know you're from New York, but that's not the point. Which one is better, in your opinion?"  
  
"Sound-wise, or impress-your-friends wise, or dance-wise?"   
  
"Um... I guess all of those?"  
  
"Right. Lemme see."  
  
I held out one hand expectantly, and he walked around the counter to give the CD case to me. Plopping it down on the counter, I leafed through his selection, which seemed to involve mostly rap and angry metal music. If Beethoven were a ghost, and he were here, he would have exploded our entire house.  
  
"Well, what a culturally refined boy you are," I pinched his cheek.  
  
He slapped it away and his cheeks flushed.  
  
"You don't think any of them are good? Really? I kind of thought girls... went for the bad-boy thing."  
  
I practically choked on my drink, I was laughing so hard.  
  
"You're joking, right?"  
  
Dopey didn't seem to appreciate being called a non-magnetic girl magnet. I knew this because he slammed his CD foam case shut, and glared at me.  
  
"So what do you suggest, Madame I'm-The-Life-Of-The-Party?"  
  
"Geez. Calm down, would you? For one, I would ditch the M.C. Hammer."  
  
"But they're old school!" he complained.  
  
"Yeah, Brad, they're *old.* Not old school," I corrected him.   
  
He had a look on his face as though he thought that I had said that he had been living his life the wrong way his entire life.   
  
"I am not ditching M.C. Hammer," he said with as much courage as he could under the situation.  
  
"Let me just go and get Sl-Jake, would you?"  
  
As expected, I didn't get up from my seat to go walk upstairs and knock on his door, like an athletically fit person would, although I definitely needed it.   
  
"JAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!" I yelled, using that New York lung power that came in handy when living in a four-men household.  
  
"COME DOWN HERE AND TELL YOUR BROTHER THAT MC HAMMER IS NOT ACCEPTABLE IN A PUBLIC LOCATION, SUCH AS THIS PARTY WE'RE HAVING TWO HOURS WHICH I BELIEVE KELLY PRESCOTT AND DEBBIE MANCUSO WILL BE ATTENDING? AND SINCE EVERYBODY ALREADY KNOWS THAT BRAD IS SO STUCK ON THAT-"  
  
Brad gave me what he believed to be a withering glare, and I gave him my index finger back in reply.  
  
Four hours later, Jake came down to sleepily rub his eyes and mumble, "Brad. Put down the M.C. Hammer. You're embarrassing to the family."  
  
All right, it had been more like four minutes. But in Jake-time, it's very, very, very slow. It's like watching Baywatch in really slow motion, so they're just stuck up in the air after each running step they take.  
  
"See?" I said triumphantly. "Even Jake thinks it's stupid, and he's..."  
  
Dopey looked at me, expecting a finish to my sentence.  
  
"Very cool," I finished. *Smooth,* Gidget.  
  
"Fine," said Dopey simply. "You get your CDs, if yours are so great."  
  
"I never said they were."  
  
"Apparently, they must be if you're dissin' mine."  
  
Dopey used the word "apparently." That was weird. And "dissing." Like, "Apparantly, you be dissin' mine so yos disks ain't all good."  
  
Sometimes Dopey likes to think he's ghetto, and it just comes out really nerdy.   
  
There's always an akward silence after he says something like that, and he has to cough and change the subject, because it's a great mental shame for such a small ego like his. Of course, I've never said that to him, just like they don't publicly say that I'm in a gang.   
  
Because I'm not, of course, but Dopey and Sleepy don't know that.  
  
"All right."  
  
I shrugged and got up off the comfort of my chair, and while I went up the stairs to rummage through my extensive collection, Dopey had taken the liberty of sitting down on the object of furniture and drinking the rest of my coke.  
  
I shook my head as I reached the landing, and I walked down the hallway that lead to my room.   
  
Yeah, I know! My own hallway, and my own bathroom. It was great, except for the fact that my mom thought I would be getting more privacy because of it... it really was ironic, with all the ghosts walking in on me without going down the hallway or knocking.   
  
Walking in my room, I noticed it was free of ghosts. And cats.   
  
"Yes," I thought.   
  
Then I remembered not to jinx myself, and so I just stopped at that. At my bookcase, there were four shelves of books (contrary to popular belief, I am a fan of them), and about two shelves of CD cases... and plush toys that I can't bear to give away. They're my babies, after all.   
  
I had to yell back down to Brad. "WHICH CD CASES?"  
  
"WHAT?" he screamed from the kitchen.  
  
"WHICH COMPACT DISC CASES WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO BRING?" I enunciated more clearly. It wasn't even straining my voice to do this, and I'd been a little out of practice. After all, it wasn't as though Carmel were full of taxis, waiting to be yelled at.  
  
"YOU HAVE MORE THAN ONE?"  
  
"YES, DUMBASS," I swore. I usually don't swear, but sometimes I just get a little fed up.  
  
"BRING THE GOOD ONES, THEN!"  
  
"ALL OF THEM ARE GOOD! I HAVE SIX CASES, EACH WITH 24 IN THEM EXCEPT FOR THE LAST ONE WHICH HAS 12! DO THE MATH!"  
  
"JUST BRING THEM ALL DOWN!"  
  
I sighed. "GIVE ME A MINUTE!"  
  
A certain ghost took this time to appear in my bedroom, giving off that shimmery full-body halo that declared themselves there.   
  
"You have hundred and thirty-two of those shiny circles?" asked Jesse.   
  
I had already known it would be Jesse, which was eerily creepie and very cool all at the same time. Mostly creepy, though.  
  
"They're CDs, Jesse," I demonstrated, pulling one out of the plastic sheath and showing it to him.  
  
He looked at it, perplexed, while that one eyebrow with the scar in it lifted up. "Why would you need so many of them?"  
  
Oh, Jesus. This was going to take more than a minute.  
  
"Well, each one has a certain number of songs on them, you know what songs are, right?"   
  
Ugh, I didn't mean to be sarcastic.  
  
"I have," he said, with that little knowing smile of his. "You do know what horses are, don't you?"  
  
"I do," I replied just as easily. "But anyway, you put them in the player and there's like this laser thing that scans them, and then, instant music."  
  
"Brilliant," he murmured. I almost smiled.   
  
Note: almost.  
  
I was used to this sort of talk by ghosts; ghosts who had been stuck in their death place for years and years, who would ask me wonderingly, "what in the world are you *wearing?*" And then they would ask what year it was, and I would tell them. With a shaky hand, the ghost would push their hair back, or take off their tri corner hat and tell me that it wasn't possible, because that would mean that they had been in this place for the past 124 years.  
  
Then it was a very long process of telling them that they were dead, and I would help them. Sometimes the ghosts would need a little ass kicking, and tell me they wanted to see Paris when they were small in 1955, and then when they died in 1975, they never got to see the damn Eiffel Tower and they weren't going to give that up just to go to their afterlife, which in their eyes was always heaven, and always would wait for them.  
  
It's altogether different with Jesse, because he's my friend, and also very good-looking. Of course, I never mind explaining. I have to remind myself that this is kind of cool, that I get to talk to dead people. Also, very insane.  
  
"Why were you yelling at your brother?"  
  
"He's not my brother."  
  
"Your step-brother, then. Why were you yelling?"  
  
"Why were you listening?"  
  
"I just happened to overhear, as would anyone in China would have."  
  
Ooh, sarcasm from Jesse. Had to say I was pleased that I was rubbing off on him, although not in the literal rubbing sense. I had to give myself a mental smack. "He's *dead,* you freak!" I thought.  
  
"Oh, well, in that case, I better explain the yelling to the people in China, too."  
  
I opened up my mouth to yell again, but Jesse took this chance to clamp one of those strong warm hands over my mouth. My eyes shot wide open angrily, and I bit him on the palm. He did not taste like chicken, or dead people. Just a little salty, really.  
  
"Nombre de *Dios,* Susannah," he winced and held his hand, and stepped back. I was a force to be reckoned with. "Would you like your brother to know that you are speaking to invisible people?"  
  
"Oh, sorry," I said, truthfully. "I forgot."  
  
"I think I'm bleeding," he muttered, and checked his hand. He seemed a little disappointed when he wasn't. I sighed.  
  
"Really, I am sorry."  
  
"So why were you yelling- at your step-brother?" Jesse made sure to say "step-brother" with extra-clear enunciation.  
  
"Oh, he just wanted to see some of my CDs... because all he has are really dumb rap albums."  
  
"Rap?"  
  
"Horrible music," I defined.   
  
"Oh. But I have heard your music, Susannah. Isn't it a little loud for Bradley?"  
  
"Not really," I lied through my teeth.  
  
I was going to avoid at all costs the topic that there was going to be some sort of a party tonight at the Simon-Ackerman household. Not only would Jesse attempt to stop it (he knew my parents too well, and I had an idea that they did have parties back in the 1850s, albeit not as loud), he probably would scare everybody and nobody would ever come to our house again.  
  
"How so?" he asked.  
  
"It's just that I make it louder. The volume button can work wonders on a stressed mind."  
  
I pushed the bangs out of my eyesight (I'm trying to grow them out), and I stared up at his rugged manly-man face. (I swear, it is such a rugged manly-man face... still pretty, though).  
  
"What are you looking at?" I asked him, because I knew he was trying to pull something out of me.   
  
He could sense that something was up. And I was not going to tell him what that up was.  
  
"Nothing," he said. "What are you looking at?"  
  
"Nothing," I replied.  
  
"Right," he said, as though he didn't believe me.  
  
"You aren't looking at nothing."  
  
"You aren't either."  
  
"I was looking at Spike," I said pointedly, and gestured towards the large and menacing cat who had just walked through my porch window with amble of a scheming gangster.  
  
He hissed at me.  
  
"Y'see, if I don't look out for myself, that cat will rip me to shreds and then all you will see is one shredded pile of kick-ass."  
  
"A lady shouldn't use that language," Jesse warned me, smiling subtly. Because he definitely knew there was something planned for tonight that he wasn't invited to. He loves to show up for things he isn't invited to.  
  
"Not a lady."  
  
"You could be if you closed your eyes and concentrated really hard, Susannah."  
  
"Was that sarcasm? From the 150-year-old cowboy? Gasp. No. I believe that has now been two sarcastic sentences from you. Impressive."  
  
"Not a cowboy," he reminded me.  
  
"You could be if you closed your eyes and concentrated really hard, Jesse."  
  
Too bad Jesse wasn't short for anything that I knew of.  
  
"Don't you have, uh, a netherworld to be in?"  
  
"No, happy hour doesn't start for another hour," he informed me.   
  
All right. That was it. He's not allowed to read my books anymore. He's *stealing* my jokes.  
  
"Well, then, would you mind leaving now?" Usually I'd be begging for him to stay here forever, but when there was a party to be had... it's best that ghosts *aren't* going around the neighborhood to alert the neighbors.  
  
"You would like me to leave, Susannah?"   
  
I instantly feld bad for telling him to leave. After all, I've told him to leave before, but that was when he first came here and I didn't know him. But, hey! He wasn't supposed to making me feel guilty! This is *my* room, I reminded myself.  
  
"You can come back!" I said, cheerfully slapping the open CD case shut and picking it up, indicating my about-to-leave-ness. "But I'm having some friends over and so I'd rather not be 'overheard.'"  
  
"I do not eavesdrop," said Jesse, crossing his arms over that slightly open white shirt.  
  
"You do so," I teased.  
  
"I do not."  
  
"Do so."  
  
"Do not."  
  
"Do so."  
  
"This is ridiculous. I only overhear certain words, Susannah, and then I make my own educated conclusions."  
  
"Uh, yeah, if overhear meant eavesdropping."  
  
"Ay, you're beginning to frustrate me just the littlest bit, querida. I'm leaving. Don't get into trouble." He raised his eyebrows at me irritatedly, and shimmered off.  
  
"Me? Trouble? Hah!" I swore I could hear a laugh going off as loud as a cannon in the distance.   
  
-----------------------------  
  
Two hours later, the trouble I swore I wouldn't get into arrived. 


	3. More Cheese Adventures

Yep. Totally lied about that due date, so I kind of rushed to finish this section. Sorry about the horribleness of it all.   
  
---------  
  
"Hey," I commented as the first two partygoers stepped inside my house.  
  
Which was weird, that feeling. People stepping inside *my* house. It'd been that long. Cee Cee and Adam walked in, an interesting pair just by the looks of them. Cee Cee had a light purple raincoat on and Adam looked like he fell into the Gap of Mars. But I still felt that major surge of happiness to see them both.  
  
"I bought bottled water," said Cee Cee, her light freckles dimly visible through the lighting Dopey had set up. She looked around the foyer, and shrugged her raincoat off. "It's pouring outside."  
  
"A sexy kind of pouring," commented Adam, looking very strongly at me. I rolled my eyes.   
  
He took off his blue windbreaker and wrapped it over his arm, wiping the beads of rain off onto the funky rug my mom brought with us from New York.  
  
You could hear the not-too-loud thump of the music going on in our living room, which is really perfect for these kinds of covert-party things.   
  
"My mom thinks carbonation isn't good for your blood, so we only have water. And a lot of health food. I am muchly needing something with powdered cheese. You happen to have any?"  
  
"Of course. And apparently, Adam has decided to bring the Magic Invisible Fruit Snacks tonight," I said, poking at his arm.  
  
"Oh, they're not invisible," he assured me. "They're just hiding. They're anti-social, you know. They don't like the powdered cheese types."  
  
"But hey, anyway, you guys are the first ones here," I said.  
  
"Go us," cheered Cee Cee, dropping the water next to the floor rug and closing the door behind her. I watched the rain drip down from the overhang of the porch.  
  
I checked my watch. "We've got forty-five minutes. You'd swear it was Brad's debutante party or something... he's so antsy about this."  
  
Adam lifted his left eyebrow. "Is there something I should... know about Brad that I can spread around the sophomore class gleefully?"  
  
"I'll let you know when I find something trashy. Mostly, though, it's just been his obssession with Jennifer Love Hewitt."  
  
"That is so passe," said Adam.   
  
We walked into the kitchen together, which had been filled with various bowls of chips and sodas over the past couple hours.   
  
"Feeding an army of 4000?" Cee Cee asked me, eyeing all the forbidden junk food.   
  
"Yes," I said, grinning.  
  
Adam took a seat at the island, as I walked around the kitchen, surveying all the food and finally picking a Dorito out of a leaf-imprinted bowl. "Mm.... preservative goodness. Seriously, if you guys want to see some serious upchuck action tonight, you'll probably get a first-class view of it. I love these things," I admitted.  
  
"Ew," commented Cee Cee, who is not a fan of involuntary bodily functions unless they make her heart beat or let her breathe.  
  
"I might have to excuse myself from that, as much as I would like to watch you... technicolor yawn," added Adam colorfully.  
  
The three of us chatted for a while. We were undisturbed by my three stepbrothers, two of whom were running around the neighborhood, checking for people who were home or not... after all, this was a holiday weekend and most people were up in Tahoe, enjoying the fresh mountain air and expensive country club martinis. They still checked, though... and I kept the music loud enough to be danceable, but low enough that you could scarcely hear it through the outside.  
  
I could hear voices coming in through our house, and the stereo thumping away with the hip music of today. I wondered vaguely if the house was trashed, it'd be my fault.   
  
"So have you heard about Ashley Gaussian?" Cee Cee commented eagerly. She always knows everything that goes around in the school.  
  
I know it's probably not good to participate in gossip, but I figure I already got an advantage, y'know, being a Mediator... my job depends almost entirely on gossip from the ghost world. It's really not all that different from the real world, except for that the people are dead.   
  
"Ooh, what?"  
  
"Don't tell me," said Adam, just as the doorbell rang. One of my brothers rushed to go and answer it, while I listened closer. "She's really a man and she's the father of Debbie Mancuso's baby."  
  
"Actually, no, but close," said Cee Cee.  
  
"Really?" I asked.  
  
"No, but just as interesting. Get this: her dad is having another house built a block away from your house, Suze. Which means, you're probably going to be neighbors with 1 of their 'staff.' Ashley's dad has so many houses here, you wonder if they're, I don't know, trafficking drugs or something. Isn't that kind of creepy?"  
  
"Not for Ashley," said Adam, who was justified in the fact that all of us, being previously viewed as outcasts before I came along and punched it out of the people who said so, could be considered almost like Ashley.  
  
However, Ashley's notorious for being the Sophomore Half-Slut. She kisses a *lot* of boys in the hallways. She wears a lot of yellow and red, and she had perfect hair. But most of the girls hate her because she's a boyfriend-stealer.  
  
Suddenly and without warning (as though you would get a warning for these kinds of things), the phone rang with a shrill tone. I didn't even jump, because I'm used to the sound by now. Adam and Cee Cee looked at the phone with a reasonable amount of surprise.   
  
"God, you'd think World War Three had just come upon us and we were all gonna die," commented Adam. "Suze, do you think you would ever consider hav-"  
  
"No," I answered immediately, sensing what he was about to say. I got off my chair and walked to the phone. Picking it up warily, I instantly noticed my mother's voice on the line.   
  
"Hey, sweetie," she said.  
  
"Oh... Mom. Hello."  
  
Cee Cee's purple eyes widened, and Adam's mouth was stuck in an akward open pose, complete with chewed-up food shot. I coughed a little, and motioned for them to go and tell everybody coming through the door, and Adam acknowledged my hand movements as the international sign for choking, and jokingly moved over to me, ready to perform some dutiful thrusting, which I immediately stopped with a very powerful swap to the side of his head.  
  
"How's everything going?" she asked me conversationally.  
  
I pressed the phone harder to my ear, and pushed my chestnut hair behind my ears. I leaned against the doorjamb nervously, not really sure of what to say. I mean, what could you say? Hey, Mom, the stepbros are throwin' a major party while you're frolicking away in San Luis Obispo with my carpenter stepfather, hope you don't mind that we're just going to trash the house a little, but at least there won't be any BEER!  
  
"Oh, fine, fine. You?"   
  
I was in definite cryptic-girl-mode.  
  
"Hey, look, they have Jell-O..." whispered Cee Cee quietly from around the corner of the kitchen in the hallway. I have exceptional hearing, hence... the good hearing.  
  
"Cee Cee, that isn't Jell-O."  
  
"It isn't?"  
  
"Oh, Andy and I have just been having the *best* time. The view is gorgeous, and we got a great room at the Madonna Inn, which you wouldn't think would happen... we'll take all of you there this summer, maybe. They have this giant fountain in the men's room, and sometimes they actually...." I tuned my mom's voice out a little. I know it was mean, but I had to make sure that nobody was saying anything that could get us into trouble. I mean, I did miss my mom a little. We had always been together, you know, doin' the Rory and Lorelai from Gilmore Girls, except with less tragic romance, until she moved out to California and I stayed with my grandma.  
  
And I really did want to know what was happening, so I tried to keep both ears open.  
  
"I'm pretty sure that's got alcohol in them."  
  
"Ooh, those must be those Jell-O shot things."  
  
"Cee Cee, don't touch."  
  
"I wasn't going to!"  
  
"You were so! I saw you going for the reach!"  
  
"I did not reach! I did no reaching!"  
  
"All right, so, anyway what are your names?" Adam geekily asked the guests at the front door, but quietly, because Cee Cee had asked them to shut up a little. I had to smile.   
  
Probably Dopey's friends, if he had any, were the people. Or Sleepy's. Because I didn't recognize the voices when my stepbrothers had opened the door.   
  
"Hey, uh, do you two mind going back into the kitchen? I can handle it from here." And there was the Dopey himself, embarrassed by the few intellectuals in my sophomore year that happened to be my friends. Sigh. That is just such a dumb-boy thing to say. Handle it. Come on, they're just people.  
  
"Honey, is there anybody else at the house?" my mom's voice broke my train of thought. Adam and Cee Cee quietly stepped back into the kitchen, Adam shooting menacing glares at my flirting brother's back.  
  
"Um, not really," I lied. "Just Cee Cee and Adam."  
  
I heard my mom's not-so-surprised sigh of relief. Oh, come on, I thought. She thinks they're total dweebs. How nice. Good to know my mother is always supportive of my buds.   
  
"And I think Jake's having a couple friends over, but nothing major," I said loudly.  
  
Adam looked at me disapprovingly and made a tut-tut noise. That is my least favorite noise in the world. The tut of disapproval and skepticism and downright snubs. I gave Adam my index finger, because after all, I am a girl and I don't approve of the middle one. I think index is a little less dirty.  
  
"So how has your first day without your mom been going? You homesick yet?"  
  
"Um, well, not really. I think I'm okay. I'll let you know if I have the urge to break down and cry and threaten to kill myself with the bug spray, oh, wait, no, that was fourth grade, Mom!" I told her.  
  
She sighed. "Right, right.... I know it's hard with all those boys in the house, cookie. That's all I'm saying, and I just wanted to call and check up on you. I know you'll be responsible and keep them all in line."  
  
Geez. Where WAS she coming up with all these "cookies" and "honeys" and "sweeties?" I didn't mind, it was just not something that she said. I figured all that time with Andy had turned her into a simpering love fest, and I had to say that I was very happy for her.   
  
And then I started to get a little... well, guilty. My mom always means well for me, and I do want to make her happy. About me, that is. Because the Mediator thing has taken a toll on me being a normal girl, and she always expected that I'd grow out of my "Oh, mom, I'm staying at Gina's house tonight, but we might go out and see a movie, so I'll probably not be at their house, and then we might go to one of Gina's friend's house, so I'll basically not be available to you at any establishment" - phase. I don't know what she thought about all that. Probably that I was in a gang or something.  
  
Please.   
  
I was being attacked by gangs. Of ghosts, but, you know, the dead are just as deadly as the real thing. And what was irritating was that on the old ghosts, none of my Casper jokes were really very funny. I made some good ones about Christina Ricci, but they didn't get those either.  
  
"Yes, I'll be very responsible. More than you think, actually," I coughed up.  
  
Cee Cee eyed me underneath her glasses. "You. Are. So. Bad," she mouthed.  
  
"All right, honey, I've got to go. We made dinner reservations at 8," she giggled a little.  
  
"Oh, well that's nice, Mom. I'll tell the guys you both said hi. Say hi to Andy for me, 'k?"  
  
"Bye, Suze. Love you."  
  
"Love you too."  
  
I then pressed the "off" button and heaved a sigh of pure relief.   
  
"Whooh. That's a rush," I declared.  
  
"Don't go all crazy on us now," said Adam. "Pretty soon you'll be threatening to knit us sweaters, you crazy... bad person."  
  
"Yeah," added Cee Cee.   
  
"So what was all the Jell-O talk about back there? Whadd-I miss?"  
  
"Oh, nothing, really. Cute senior girls came in, totally drunk, with Jell-O shots. They told Jake, even though he was upstairs, that they were going to do naughty and unmentionable things to my ears," said Adam.  
  
"Un-huh," I motioned at Cee Cee. "Seriously, what?"  
  
"Oh, well, pretty much, you'll see for yourself," said Cee Cee.  
  
Sure enough, four senior girls came walking through the kitchen door and looked at Adam and Cee Cee with disdain. "I thought," said one of the girls snottily to Brad, who was standing behind them with a *very* pleased look on their face, "You said there would be a party here. But you took..." she woozed slightly on the spot, "our drinks... away. And put them in a bush. And now, there's only these...." she searched for the words, "losers. Here. Why?"  
  
"Because people like you can't even dress yourselves in the morning, or walk, for that matter, and so therefore that's why we're going to be running the country in the next twenty years and you're going to be on Lower Whacker Drive in Chicago, totally coked out of your mind with bloody snot dribbling down your nose," I said simply.  
  
Because that is just not nice to insult my friends.  
  
Adam grinned at me.  
  
"God, Suze, way to exchange pleasantries," came a voice from behind Brad. Jake, who was smiling at the four girls, who looked at them with "simpering moron" practically written across their faces. "Hey," he nodded at them. "There is a party to be had here.... you're the first."  
  
"Really?" said a blonde, obviously fake. You know, the kind of girls with the one shoulder halter top, in a very bright color, with a black strapless bra, enhancements provided by their local plastic surgeon and Victoria's Secret, hideously blonde highlights, skin that would make a dermatologist scream and run the other way, and really glossy lip gloss. That's saying something.   
  
She tossed her hair and pouted her lips at him. "I bet you that you won't be early... later."  
  
She was trying hard to be sexy, but she was so drunk that she really didn't make any sense. She started to make little "grr-ing" noises as though she were some type of animal, and licking her lips. It was all very confusing, so I disregarded her and turned to Suze and Cee Cee, chomping on some more 3-D Doritos. Tasty.  
  
"Okay," shrugged Jake, who went to the door to open the door for a group of adolescents standing under the porch light, presumably some more from Jake's grade. Some of them even looked familiar. None of them wore Birkenstocks, which was good.   
  
In the next few 30 minutes as we all chatted around the kitchen table and amusedly watched Brad grinding against many girls (none of the drunk ones, I noticed), and saw people come in my front door, I was beginning to feel a very... tingly presence. And it wasn't the Listerine from this morning, either. I had the overcoming sense that I was not going to have a normal evening.   
  
I was so totally Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Except I was more Suze the Ghost-Sender-Backer. Damn. I need to come up with a better name, because Mediator is just too common. I mean, if Father Dom is a Mediator, then I'm like... the Terminator. Or something. Whatever, you know what I mean.  
  
"Well, I might as well boogie while I've got the chance," I thought.   
  
"So, you guys want to go with me and check out the scenery?" asked Adam, eyeing the girls who were walking in and out of the kitchen, grabbing bottles of water from the fridge. Thankfully enough, all of the people here had listened to my brothers and myself when I had called them to tell them *not* to bring any alcohol.   
  
"Oh, I've seen it all before," I mused.  
  
"Ditto," seconded Cee Cee. "There's no scenery to check."  
  
"All right, then." Adam got off his leaning position on the counter, and put on what he thought was his sultry pouty face, and walked off to go clip himself some shrubs.  
  
My sun-challenged friend sighed deeply, and pushed her really light hair out of her face, and her glasses back on her nose.   
  
"I should've brought some paper and a pen. I need to write something, anything, really," she said.  
  
"Bored already?"  
  
"Oh, no," she said quickly. "I just... well, I thought this would work well. For my novel."  
  
I nodded in understanding. "I'll go get you some."   
  
I left Cee Cee there at the island counter while I went off in search of paper in the living room. There was a staggered wall of people dancing and grinding to the music, which was provided by Basement Jaxx at the moment. I sighed in contemplation, and watched as couples moved together as though this were some sort of mass orgy.  
  
Today's teenagers, I tell you. Not that I'd be complaining if I were in the middle of that with some dark, tall, handsome man with a sultry, hot voice in my ear. The lights were sort of dimmed, and the music was at an acceptable throb, pounding enough to match my heartbeat.   
  
People weaved about each other, mingling and talking with cups of soda in their hand, chips in mouth, laughing and joking with each other. Flirting was to be had here, and I remembered that I was on a mission for paper.  
  
Righty-O, Cee Cee Webb.  
  
Suddenly, I was sidetracked as someone tapped at my shoulder and said something to me. I spun around on my new Jimmy Choo black heels, which were, by the way, absolutely to die for.  
  
"Oh, Debbie. Kelly. Hey," I said. "Nice nails," I told the latter.   
  
"Oh, thanks."  
  
She beamed at me.  
  
"Excellent party... how'd you ever get your parents to go away?"  
  
"Stroke of luck," I shrugged.  
  
"Oh, hey," Debbie broke in, eyes brightening. "There's someone we want you to meet. So. Cool. She goes to school in Gilroy, but she's on a weekend trip here to Carmel to visit her aunt and uncle, and they live right next to us. Isn't that the best?"  
  
A girl with dark brown hair and chocolate eyes came forth behind the two popular girls, looking a little shy about all the people around her. She was very beautiful. She definitely had the great teeth going, and her hair was swept up in the back and tucked in by some sparkly blue pins. She also had this sort of glow around her, and I wondered for a moment if she were a ghost.  
  
Obviously not, though, because she seemed to be apparent to the living.  
  
I glanced at what she was wearing.   
  
Nice, though. Bebe black skirt in a double diamond shape, United Colors of Benetton beige peasant shirt, and Guess heels. Again, I do have a knack for fashion. And to top her outfit off, she had a simple single pendant necklace on... which I noticed was from Target. A very nice touch, actually.  
  
"Lauren," she said, holding out her hand.  
  
I shook it, and said, "Suze Simon. Nice to meet you."  
  
"Oh, you're from New York," she said. She had a soft voice not from California and I had to strain to hear her. "It's busy there."  
  
"Yeah, I love it."  
  
Debbie and Kelly watched on with interest as though this were some fascinating scale at Burberry's. I leaned back a little to see how Cee Cee was faring by herself. She's not a party girl, you know. Much to my surprise, a boy had sat down next to her and they were grinning and *smiling* at each other. Well, knock me over with a feather, why don't you?  
  
"Um, yeah. So, Gilroy, Garlic Capital, huh?"  
  
"Yeah," she smiled, and I felt that weird Buffy-tingling again. What was that? I hoped to God that Jesse hadn't come down from the Netherworld. I especially hoped that he wasn't watching me, because I had on what he would not think appropriate, but would just look at very simply and then avert his eyes.  
  
Well, it was just wearing a light blue shift dress from the Gap, but it was stretchy and therefore hugged in some areas. I had to be hugged by something.  
  
"But, um, I was born in Evry, France, so... that is where the accent comes from," said Lauren.  
  
"Oh, cool. You travel a lot?" I asked. I happen to like traveling, although we never get to go because it's just too much of a hassle for my mom if she has to take care of kids while she's on vacation.  
  
"Yes, yes. My father was a businessman so he used to take us everywhere," she told me.  
  
Was? Oy. Poor girl. Hey! Poor me, too.  
  
"My father used to be a lawyer," I told her.  
  
We looked at each other in understanding, like something you would see in movies. Although, my smile was probably because my ghost dad was dead and her dad had most likely lost a job or something.  
  
"Oh, Suze, did you *see* the hot seniors that're here?" Kelly asked, interrupting Lauren and I. "Some of them come from Robert Louis Stevenson, you know... how the hell did you get them here?"  
  
"Just my brothers' immense charm and intellect," I told her. I am such a horrible liar. I'll bet you I'll get some horrible facial twitch on my face from lying so much when I'm older.  
  
"What's Robert Louis Stevenson?" asked Lauren.  
  
"This one school," scoffed Debbie.   
  
She said school like it were a bad word. I knew she only said that because she failed the entrance exam and her parents even *paid* the school and they didn't let her in.  
  
Which was actually, kind of a funny story, according to Sleepy.  
  
"So," I said to Debbie, Kelly, and Lauren, who were looking a little like the three musketeers. They stood arm to arm, and looked like they were ready for some more mingling.  
  
I then took this opportunity to walk quickly away and then down the hallway to find my mom and Andy's office. The silence was soothing. Not only do I get sensory overloads at the mall, but it happens at parties, too. I knew this ghost-business had to be cutting into something. I really had to stop beeing so sulky... although, I have to say, the more I tried not to be popular, the more I was with the school crowd. Crazy.  
  
I walked in into the dark room, sighing slightly. Silver beams of moonlight pierced the shades and grazed against my body. I still felt a prickle of hair standing up on the back of my neck. Wondering if someone other... well, other-worldly had followed me, I slowly turned toward the ajar door. Nothing.   
  
I just heard the faint sound of music. Breathed a little. This was creeping me out. I mean, not the breathing or the faint sound of music... just that prickle at my neck.  
  
You know what I just thought of? You know how it's like this old wive's tale that when you go by a cemetary, you're supposed to hold your breath? Supposedly, the deceaseds' souls are supposed to possess you and make you do weird things after they go up your nose. I've always kind of wondered about that.... I wouldn't know, because you know, I tend to avoid old graveyards for very good reasons. I probably should, for research... eh, but no one ever said I was a dilligent researcher.  
  
I was lost in my thoughts when I heard someone come through the door.  
  
"Ah-ha," I thought comtemptuously. "Gonna kick some ghost booty. Oh, geez, don't tell me I'd rather be kicking ghost booty than boogying my socks off. But I'm not wearing socks. All right, Suze, stop rambling."  
  
I turned around quickly, my eyes flashing to the girl in the doorway.  
  
Lauren.  
  
"Sorry to bother you," she said quietly. "But... um... are you... the mediator? Someone said I could find you here. I mean, not here in your office. In Carmel... I've been looking for you for a while."  
  
I blinked my eyes.   
  
"Me?" I pointed at myself. "Actually, I was thinking about a job change. You know. Like being a Vampire Slayer or something."  
  
Lauren's eyes widened. "Vampires?"   
  
"Uh. Never mind. What do you want? Or, moreover, hello, I'm the Afterlife Travel Agent, how may I help you to your final destination?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"That is what you're looking for, right?"  
  
"Looking for WHAT?"  
  
"Okay, color me confused. What do you need?"  
  
"I have to find my brother. My little brother."  
  
"Uh-huh. So... are you a ghost, or something?"  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
Oh, good, Suze. Go and confuse the girl.  
  
"What's the last thing you... remember doing? Before going to go look for me, I mean." I went to go take a seat on the swirly office chair.   
  
Lauren sat down on the small chair across from me and breathed out slowly. Her mouth opened slightly in frustration.  
  
"I... I don't know. Exactly."  
  
Oh, boy. So confused right now.  
  
"So, tell me vaguely," I said.  
  
"I think... I was doing the laundry. At my place. My little brother was upstairs, sleeping. It was late."  
  
"In Gilroy?" I suggested.  
  
"No..." she said slowly, her voice strangled. "I was in Seattle."  
  
"New York. What were you doing in Seattle?"  
  
"Living there. With my brothers, and my dad."  
  
"Okay. How long ago was this?"  
  
She pursed her glossy lips. Lauren looked worried; very worried.  
  
"Maybe... three months ago."  
  
"Lauren, are you dead or not?" I asked her.  
  
"Um... Suze... I'm not dead."  
  
I sighed. Dead people never wanna be dead.  
  
"Okay. Let me start over. Why are you looking for your brother? Where is he? Why do you think I could find him?" I sat down in the office chair across from me, and motioned for Lauren to sit down on the couch. Her hands were shaking a little, and she sat like a fragile little bird, her arms folded over each other like wings.  
  
"You don't understand how much it means for me to find you. I mean, at first I thought I wouldn't, but..." she breathed heavily. "I did. And I'm looking for my brother. He's been missing for three months."  
  
"What's his name?"  
  
"Jack. Jack Slater."  
  
I blinked. "Oh my God."  
  
----  
  
Okay, so right, I'm evil, and I apologize profusely. 


	4. Soon

New chapter coming in this spot. Soon. I hope. 


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